


Watson's Favourite

by ClingingOntoAir



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes - Rathbone
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, But not explicit, Jammy!Watson, M/M, Not Beta Read, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:09:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClingingOntoAir/pseuds/ClingingOntoAir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something was clearly wrong. Holmes quickly took in all the signs: elevated heart rate, heavy breathing, flushed face, and... was that jam on the corner of his mouth? A moment later, he was able to verify that it was indeed his favourite raspberry jam that Watson had been indulging in, because then Watson was kissing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watson's Favourite

**Author's Note:**

> A response to [this prompt](http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9516.html?thread=23266604#t23266604) on the kinkmeme, asking for aphrodisiac in Jammy!Watson's jam. I tried to make it as non-cracky as possible.

"Watson!" Holmes called as he bounded up the stairs to their flat. "Watson! I have reason to believe Moriarty is at it again!"

That morning, Holmes had received a note from a boy who'd intercepted him on his way home from the tobacconist, pressed a piece of foolscap paper into his hands, and run off just as quickly as he'd appeared. Holmes' first impulse was to set one of his Irregulars on the boy's trail, but he had already disappeared into the bustling crowd of the street and would be long gone before Wiggins showed up.

_Hmm. Black dust on cap, slightly too big for him. Poor factory worker, wants to make a few extra pennies. Most likely hired off the street this morning; he wouldn't know anything of use to me. The mud on his shoes, however... that particular shade of washed-out grey can only be found by the docks. Actually, it's right next to... right where... oh no._

That was where Moriarty's last known hideout in the city had been. Holmes glanced down at the almost forgotten note in his hands with a sudden sense of unease. He immediately unfolded the nondescript piece of paper to read, "WATCH OUT, HOLMES. IT'S COMING WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT." The note was unsigned, but Holmes had most definitely come across that peculiar scrawl before. _Moriarty._ Although, if he'd wanted to attack Holmes, why would he send a warning note? Holmes was entirely capable of defending himself, but he would be even more so if prepared for some sort of assault by Moriarty's henchmen. Unless the deed in question had already happened. Unless... _Watson._

Shoving the ominous note into his coat pocket, Holmes raced back to Baker Street.

 

* * *

 

"Watson!" Holmes called once again, throwing open the door. "Has anything hap-" _Whump._

All the breath had suddenly been knocked out of him. He looked incredulously at Watson, who had somehow managed to catch him mid-stride through the doorframe, get the door shut behind him, and now had Holmes pinned against it by his wrists. 

"I... Holmes... I..." Even for Watson, the stammer was unusual. Something was clearly wrong. Holmes quickly took in all the signs: elevated heart rate, heavy breathing, flushed face, and... was that jam on the corner of his mouth? A moment later, he was able to verify that it was indeed his favourite raspberry jam that Watson had been indulging in, because then Watson was kissing him.

It was sloppy, and his moustache tickled, but the sensation was not altogether unpleasant and, if Holmes were honest with himself (which he usually was), not entirely unwelcome, either. But as Watson broke for air, Holmes took note of how unnaturally large his pupils were, and came back to himself.

"Watson, what have you done? Where did that jam come from?" Holmes asked sternly, trying to penetrate the fog that was clearly surrounding Watson's mind at present. He chose to ignore what had just occurred in favour of trying to figure out what had been done to his best friend. By now, he knew that this must have something to do with Moriarty, and the cryptic note he had received earlier. Trying to focus, Holmes attempted to twist out of Watson's grip, but Watson had moved on to kissing his neck.

"So...sorry....can't...remember..." Watson moaned in between kisses that were becoming more like bites. He put one hand on Holmes' shoulder to keep him in place while the other became occupied undoing Holmes' tie. This afforded Holmes the opportunity to slip out from under Watson's arm and place himself safely across the room. He needed to think about this.

Clearly, Watson was under the influence of some sort of drug, most likely planted in jam by Moriarty's henchmen, and he'd proceeded to consume it unknowingly. Under other circumstances, Holmes might consider...maybe he could give Watson a chance, but not now, not when his very foundation had been shaken, they were potentially in danger, and, most importantly, Watson was not in his right mind. It wasn't Watson who was doing this to him. He needed to focus, and find a way out of this.

Unfortunately, Watson chose that moment to leap across the room and tackle Holmes to the floor. Still in possession of Holmes' tie, he strapped it across Holmes' chest, straddling him with his hands on either end of the tie. This made it hard for Holmes to gather the force necessary to roll all of Watson's weight off of him. He could feel a distinct hardness pressing into his abdomen.

"STOP! Watson, you need to stop this, NOW." Holmes barked in the most authoritative, military tone of voice he could summon. He didn't want this, not if Watson hadn't had a say in the matter. All it got from Watson, though, was a dazed look before he resumed his previous task and started to unbutton Holmes' shirt, hungrily kissing each newly exposed inch of skin.

"Watson! I mean it! Stop it, before you... before I... ah..." Holmes was incredibly distracted by the sensation of Watson licking his nipple. It seemed rather silly to him that he still technically had his shirt and jacket on, even though his shirt was unbuttoned all the way. Why didn't he just take them off? He reached up to do just that, or at least, he tried to, before it all came crashing back down on him.

Right. Watson was restraining him, and he had to get out before one or both of them did something they'd regret. He was reluctant to harm his friend, though, and first tried to gently roll Watson off of him by twisting his legs. This had the disastrous side effect of giving Watson the friction he'd been craving in his nether regions, and he began moving his hips rather enthusiastically on Holmes' legs, grunting as he did so. That alarmed Holmes to the point where he overcame his reservations about hurting Watson and kicked at him with all his might.

It worked; Watson fell over with a groan and Holmes was able to scramble up and run for his bedroom. He locked himself inside and collapsed on his bed, panting heavily. He blushed at his state of disarray and at the rather obvious bulge in his trousers. The note had been correct - Holmes hadn't expected an attack of any sort to come from his dear friend Watson. Now he was hiding away from him with no plan of action, badly shaken nerves, and absolutely no idea how long the effects of the drug would last.

_Dear God, what am I to do?_

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that really is the end. I only wanted to write a short fill, but somehow plot worked its way in anyway. I have no idea how I'd continue this, but you're welcome to!


End file.
